John felt like the worst boyfriend ever. They had just gotten into bed, and normally, he would have let Sherlock spoon up behind him and hold him all night, even though he really preferred for it to be the other way around, and carefully keep his hands to himself. Not tonight. He had finetuned his plan as he put the dishes into the dishwasher after the peculiar dinner, and he was determined to see it through. Even though it made him feel like... well, a gigantic jerk.

Normally, John would sleep in his boxers, and Sherlock would hide himself entirely in a full pyjamas and socks. Tonight, John was undressing him, just a little, getting rid of the pyjama jacket at least. Sherlock did nothing at all to stop him, or even dissuade him, and it only made him feel even more guilty about it. Though that was the easy part, it turned out.

At his first look at Sherlock's back, John thought he would keel over. It was littered by so many kinds of marks, none of them quite as bad as his own shoulder, but there were so many of them. And they were all bad enough.

Sherlock laid down and turned over onto his front, letting John look over his back. It felt like a relief, not having to hold himself back from John any longer, though he preferred not to look at his face right now. Not that John would think less of him for this, no, he knew better than that, but he knew it upset him. And Sherlock hated having to see John anything but happy and excited.

That did not mean that he could relax though, even though John's hands on his skin felt surprisingly nice. But however nice it felt, his body still subconsiously waited for the blow. He just hoped dearly that John didn't notice as much. Though John, of course, naturally, did just that.

John really hated how tense and still Sherlock was underneath him, as if he, too, was torturing him. But, knowing he should act now that he had pushed this far, John gently ran his hands over the scar-littered back, not letting himself be put off by how Sherlock might for all he knew have retreated back into his mindpalace, he was that still.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" There was no reply for a few seconds, then a typical gruff Sherlock reply "I am fine, John". "Does any of these hurt?" John ran his fingers over the scar of a particularly nasty knife wound at Sherlock's side. The genius shook his head slightly "no, it just feels... strange to have them touched. It is... not comfortable" he scoffed "sentiment". John smiled, gently rubbing down the consulting detective's back, holding back a sigh as he just tensed up futher. At least he didn't leave this time. Though that actually just made John more worried.

There was something with cooperative Sherlock that was just a little bit unnatural, nice as it was for a change, John decided as he pulled the duvet up and, for once, curled up behind Sherlock, allowing himself to embrace him tightly. He was pleasantly surprised as Sherlock took one of his hands in his, squeezing it softly. They had a long way to go, but at least Sherlock was willing to go down it with him.

So, John has got his work cut out for him, caring for his damaged lover. All recognisable content belongs to its respective owners.

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